


Buoyant

by reindeerjumper



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Physical Abuse, Triggers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 06:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Cormoran faces inner turmoil when Robin comes to work with a black eye.





	Buoyant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindmea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindmea/gifts).



> Just so you know, there's mention of domestic and physical abuse in this, so if that's not your thing, this isn't the fic for you! Based off the tumblr prompt, "Who did this to you?"

“Who did this to you?” Cormoran said, his hand hovering next to Robin’s face. He didn’t want to touch her, but he also wanted to pull her into his chest and hold her there until the tears that sprung to her eyes were finally finished falling. 

“Nobody. Don’t worry about it,” she said roughly, pushing past him as she swiped at the tears with the heel of her hand. She grimaced as the purple and yellow skin around her eye made itself known when she pressed her hand there. She had come to work that morning with an impressive shiner blooming around her eye, her usually cheery demeanor nowhere to be found.

Cormoran had immediately gone on the defensive.

“Robin, tell me who did this to you. And don’t give me some half-arsed excuse, like you ran into a pole on a construction site, or that you fell out of bed.” Cormoran had seen enough black eyes to know that Robin’s was from someone’s fist. Whoever’s fist it was, Cormoran was going to find them and kill them. 

She looked at him from behind her desk, her hands defeatedly resting on the top of her purse that sat next to her computer. Even from across the room, Cormoran could see the tears shining in her eyes. “Cormoran, please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Cormoran gave a gruff sigh, placing one hand on his hip as he dragged the other down his face. He didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was, but he also wanted to know who hurt her. If it was a mark, he’d never forgive himself. Mr. Fitzsimmons–the cheating husband Robin had been tailing for the better part of a week–had a history of violence, and the thought of him attacking Robin made bile rise up in the back of his throat.

Then again, if it was someone close to Robin–say, Matthew Cunliffe–Cormoran would personally hunt him down and give him a dose of his own medicine.

“Robin,” he said softly, crossing the space between the office door and her desk. “I need to know who did this to you. 

“What difference does it make?” she said miserably, digging through her bag. She wasn’t making eye contact with him, busying herself with whatever it was that she was searching for in her purse. “It’ll go away soon enough. If it bothers you that much, I’ll put makeup over it tomorrow.”

Cormoran reached across the desk and gently took Robin’s wrist in his massive hand. She stilled, the bottle of paracetamol she had been searching for clutched in her fingers. Slowly, Robin raised her face up to look Cormoran in the eye. Sunlight was spilling in from the window, catching the sapphire ring on her left finger and illuminating the bruise that bracketed her blue-gray eyes. Cormoran set his jaw, gritting his teeth to avoid saying something he’d regret, like,  _“I love you too much to see you hurt like this,”_  or even worse,  _“Please let me kiss away your tears.”_

Gently, Cormoran let go of Robin’s wrist. He continued to look into her face, his eyes searching for some thread that he could snag to unravel the stoic demeanor she was desperately trying to weave for him. “You really should ice that,” he finally said. With that, he turned around and headed towards the mini fridge they kept in the corner of the office. He rustled around inside of it, pushing past a moldy block of cheese and a carton of Chinese takeaway before emerging with an ice cold Coca-Cola can. Holding the can in his hand, Cormoran made his way back to the desk.

Robin was now slumped in the chair behind her desk, her head cradled in one hand while she despondently watched Cormoran approach her. Instead of simply handing the Coke can to her, Cormoran circled the desk and knelt next to the chair, not worrying about the rub of his prosthesis as he bent both knees. He slowly turned Robin’s chair towards him, and she went willingly. Her hands lay dejectedly in her lap as she stared down at him, the tears once again threatening to spill from her eyes.

“This’ll probably sting at first,” he murmured, holding the can up towards her face. “But it’ll feel much better once it’s been on there for a while. Helps the swelling, too.” He pressed the cold aluminum against the tender skin beneath her eye. With a hiss, her hand firmly grasped Cormoran’s free hand, squeezing his fingers as she became accustomed to the cold sensation on her face. “Good girl,” he said, squeezing her hand back as he watched the tension in her shoulders release. “Just like that.” 

After a few seconds, Robin reached her own hand up to the can and covered Cormoran’s. He felt a jolt of electricity rocket down his esophagus at the touch, settling somewhere in his stomach. “I’ve got it,” she whispered, giving him a weak smile. He nodded and withdrew his hand from the can, leaning back on his shoes but not getting up. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ve had enough of those to know how terrible they are.” Her smile grew slightly at his admission. He returned the smile, even though it was the last thing he felt like doing, then heaved himself onto his feet. Cormoran looked around behind him and grabbed a folding chair that was leaning up against the wall. He flipped it open and sat it across from Robin. With a deafening squeak, Cormoran sank down onto the cold, metal seat and stretched his bad leg out in front of him.

Robin was watching him intently, her hand still clutching the Coke can to her eye. He sighed. 

 “I don’t want to upset you, but I really want to know who did this to you. If it was a mark, it’s my job as your employer to make right whatever wrong was done to you. We need to document this, put in worker’s comp–”

Cormoran was quickly cut off by Robin’s adamant, “No!”

“Sorry?” he said, furrowing his brow. 

“I said…I said no,” Robin said quietly. “There’s no need for paperwork or-or any kind of compensation. It’s a… _personal_ matter.”

Anger flashed in Cormoran’s eyes as his worst fears were confirmed. “Did he do this to you?” he growled, leaning forward to try and get Robin to look him in the eye. 

Slowly, Robin raised her eyes to look at him. “It was both our faults,” she said meekly. “We got into a stupid argument, and I-I shoved him. Hard. He fell into the corner of the dining room table and caught his hip on it pretty badly. I don’t think he meant to do it, Cormoran, I really don’t. He apologized profusely…cried and everything.” Her voice was barely a whisper at this point as she dropped her gaze back down to the floor. 

It was taking every ounce of Cormoran’s self control to keep his voice steady as he said, “Robin, it’s not your fault.”

“I-I know that. It was both our faults.”

Cormoran leaned forward and placed both hands on her knees, willing her to look up at him. “Robin,” he said softly. She still refused to make eye contact, the can of Coke being the perfect interference. He raised his hand and gently took the soda can from her grasp, then curled a finger under her chin to try and coax her to look at him. “Robin, please look at me.” 

With some hesitation, Robin lifted her eyes to stare into Cormoran’s. They were so sad, and the bile that Cormoran had shoved down earlier once again threatened to escape. Without thinking, Cormoran cupped her jawline as he swiped the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone to catch a tear that had fallen.

“Robin, love,  _it’s not your fault.”_

Without warning, Robin launched herself forward and into Cormoran’s arms, a sob escaping her throat. Awkwardly, Cormoran raised his hands up and around Robin’s back, pulling her into him as she sobbed into his collar. Once the initial shock wore off, he started to rub comforting circles onto her back while he made soothing noises into her hair. She had raised both arms up and around his neck, clinging to him as if he were a buoy in the open sea. 

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered into her hair.

Robin pulled back, her face tearstained and red. She looked at him with open honesty, her hands resting on his chest. “You’re my best friend, Cormoran.” She wiped at her face with the heels of her hands, sniffling. “Thank you.”

Unwillingly, Cormoran pushed the lump in his throat away. “You’re welcome,” he said roughly.

Cormoran, in that moment, promised himself that the next time he saw Matthew Cunliffe, he was going to break his nose and maybe his jaw, if given the chance.


End file.
